The Order of the Ancient Stone Game Thread
15 May 1917, Abandoned Farmhouse Outside of Poperinge
Zoe rubbed the coarse blanket lying on the uneven ground. Although she had pulled her legs up, as if to be in a cocoon, her toes protruded outside of the checked materials covering. In her calloused fingers, she spun Clarke's glasses with her other hand. They moved around like a the blades of tired helicopter that didn't want to fly anymore.
"You going to let me vote in the future?" she asked Clarke.
He turned, his gaze shifting away from the weak moonlight seeping through the cracks above. A part of the beam fell on his angular face, splitting it in two. "Think you deserve it?"
"Damn straight I do. Out here, watching men die and getting my ass slapped by the brass. If they can slide their hand up my crack, I should be able to slide a paper in a box."
"I should get you on your knees for that blasphemy."
"If you were a bigger priest, I might just take that offer." She paused, flicking the glasses into the air, she caught them with her left hand, not making a sound while she did it. "Can an atheist confess to a priest?"
"Does the atheist want to?" Clarke sat up. He stroked Zoe's back. Her muscles were taught even though she looked relaxed. Her brown hair was ragged and dirt-filled, yet it still had barely made it past her shoulders.
"No. But ... I love you. There I said it." She turned, and passed Clarke's glasses back to him. Her grey eyes were caught in the moonlight, but the light did little to brighten them. "You said there was a push coming, and this war's going to end soon."
"They been saying that for a while now. Said it to Mike and then shipped him some months later. Said it to Byran and sent him away as well. Promised Jack we'd be done by Christmas. Wish we'd asked which one."
"Just, shut up, would you? I got to say these things. War's going to end sooner or later and ... that's when they worry about people like us."
Clarke put his glasses back on. He inhaled sharply. "Us two half-Arab dogs?"
"Spat from the loins of Satan himself, if I've heard enough sermons by Fredrick. God he goes on, doesn't he?"
"I'd like it if you did tonight too."
"Yeah." Zoe stood up, her full figure turning into a filled out shadow. "My father is a wicked Frenchman. Parisian. Full of debauchery, evil and all the sins the ten commandments hate. And I love him. No, I love the idea of him. Like I love the idea of us coming back war heroes, secret assassins that torched Germany to the ground. But, the Germans, they like him just fine too."
"Wait, you said he was dead. His record says he's dead."
The shadow placed a finger on Clarke's lips and ran it down them. Each one popped. "Did you wake up a skilled locksmith Mr. Walsh? Or did someone teach you it in your youth?"
"Your father was a forger."
"My father was a forger," she repeated. "Pretty decent one too. Enough to sneak us into the U.S. when things got dicey with his criminal connections. And I couldn't let him go." She met Clarke's gaze, his face empty. Two large tears, ones that had wound their way down to her mouth sparkled in the faded white light of the night sky.
"Tell me you're not stupid Clarke Walsh, tell me you know what I'm trying to confess."
His voice broke. "So when this war ends, you think they'll know?"
"How many pretty French and English speaking spies you know in the inner circle? How many German assholes are going to forget the great assassin that fucked their friend until his brain was splattered all over the wall? I'll be a pawn, something to trade for another genocidal General's freedom."
"I'm not that smart Zoe, I don't know what you want. I'm an idiot in love."
"I want you to promise me, that after tonight, you'll cast a vote in my honour. Every vote till you meet another woman. Hey," she smiled, "maybe a man. Not too much of a change, you've already fucked your heritage in the ass by siding with the racists."
"Americans are not racist, they're just," Clarke couldn't finish.
"Misguided? So they won't shoot the Arab woman? They'll try me like a blonde with curvy hips?" She swayed slowly, sliding her body against his. "One of those bitches who pout and then thrust their breasts out." She mimicked the motion. "I'm the same as her? I won't be raped, or humiliated, or yelled at. I won't die inside, everyday knowing I was trying to save both of the men I loved?"
Clarke stood up. "I brought a ring tonight, but you knew that. You've been snooping through my bag since the first date."
"Have to check for condoms. Can't be a whole woman in this line of work."
Reaching into his pack, Clarke ruffled around, his eyes closing as he searched. "Talk to me Zoe, tell me about what kind of person you would vote for."
"I don't know. Someone who believed a bilingual woman could be better than a monolingual man. Someone who understood I shouldn't have to wear tight dresses when the General is visiting. Someone who gave two fucks about my father. Hell, maybe even a pagan."
The piece of metal Clarke held glistened in the farmhouse. It was not circular, but cylinder-shaped and looked heavy. "You think there is no god?"
"I know there isn't."
"Not even a dark one, not even something people sacrificed to when the ghosts were out?"
"There is no price to pay Clarke, just living. And then it ends." She paused, her grey eyes going soft. "Please."
The barrel lit up, shattering the sound of the stillness. Shattering Zoe's voice forever. At that moment, Clarke knew she'd been wrong. There was a god, he just didn't know which one.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:45, Wed 27 Sept 2017.